And The Band Played Waltzing Matilda
by bookaholic-au
Summary: HG, Final battle. To the words of an Australian war song, a tribute to the values of the ANZACs and the Gryffindors, who would have got on just fine. Waltzing Matilda: To roam the Aussie bush with a swag, a sleeping bag and tent rolled into one. REVEIW!


**And The Band Played Waltzing Matilda**

_**A Song Fic for Anzac Day**_

_By bookaholicau_

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, The Band Played Waltzing Matilda or Waltzing Matilda. The honour goes to people far older, wiser, and more creative than I.

The significance of Anzac Day and Waltzing Matilda for the unfortunate Non-Australians:

Anzac Day is an Australian and New Zealander celebration of the sacrifices and bravery of the ANZACs (Australian and New Zealand Army Corps), also known as the Diggers for the trenches they dug, who fought and died in WWI. Anzac Day (25 April) marks the anniversary of the slaughter of the ANZACs at Gallioplli, in Turkey, due to a mistake by the British Government (no offence meant). When I read this song, I thought that it would make translate well into the Harry Potter world and I decided to write this.

Waltzing Matilda is a very famous Australian song by A. B. "Banjo" Patterson. It was considered for the national anthem but was dropped in favour of something more conventional. Waltzing Matilda tells the tale of a swag man during the sheep-shearers strike, who camped by the billabong (spring, waterhole), watched his billy (kettle) boiling, stole a jumbuck (sheep), was caught by three policemen and a squatter (landowner) on a thoroughbred and committed suicide in the billabong and apparently his ghost still sings "Waltzing Matilda" by the Coolabah tree. You can see why it might not be quiet suitable for a national anthem.

The tradition of the ANZAC's bravery in the face of extreme odds and stubbornness and the tongue-in-cheek of Waltzing Matilda are important Australian values. I saw a link between this and Harry Potter and here you have it:

* * *

When I was a young man I carried my pack

And I lived the free life of the rover.

From the Murray's green basin to the dusty outback

I waltzed my Matilda all over.

Then in nineteen fifteen the country said, "Son,

It's time to stop rambling, there's work to be done."

And they gave me a tin hat and they gave me a gun,

And they marched me away to the war.

And the band played Waltzing Matilda

As our ship pulled away from the quay,

And amidst all the cheers, flag-waving and tears

We sailed off to Gallipoli.

* * *

Harry Potter leaned against the rail of the ship, it was the same one that the Durmstrang students had come in for the Triwizard Tournament and had been commandeered for the war effort. As Champion for the side of the light, he was under his own command and had a honorary seat on the war council. Because of the prophecy, it was all because of the prophecy. The Ministry and the 'Unspeakables' had released the information halfway into what should have been his seventh year, if he hadn't been looking for the horcuxes that is.

He had apologized to Ginny after he had had time to brood on his bad decision. He realized on the Express, while Ron and Hermione had been and the end of year prefect meeting. He still loved her and was terrible at occlomency. Voldemort could read his mind, and would know how he felt about Ginny, in fact, the only thing breaking up with her had done was make both of them miserable. She had been all too happy to acknowledge his apology, once he had groveled sufficiently and admitted that he was wrong. The memory of their 'reunion' still brought a smile to his lips.

The next year, Professor MacGonagall had convinced them to return. After all, they needed secure accommodation and access to Dumbledore's books, portrait and the Hogwarts library. They did not return as students, but the teachers were always there to advise them, for only the very best could teach at Hogwarts.

A vortex of swirling water later, and they had arrived.

* * *

And how well I remember that terrible day, 

How our blood stained the sand and the water.

And of how in that hell that they call Suvla Bay

We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter.

Johnny Turk he was waiting, he primed himself well,

He showered us with bullets, and he rained us with shell,

And in five minutes flat he'd blown us all to hell,

Nearly blew us right back to Australia.

But the band played Waltzing Matilda,

As we stopped to bury our slain.

We buried ours, and the Turks buried theirs,

Then we started all over again.

* * *

War was truly a terrible thing thought Harry, when a man can die for simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Voldemort had firmly entrenched himself on the higher ground and they had been forced to dig trenches to shield themselves from the downpour of spells. They were lucky that as soon as they found out the battleground Hermione had done thorough research on battles fought on similar terrain.

Apparently the ground was much like that of at Gallipolli, in Turkey, where the Australian and New Zealander soldiers were forced to run from the sea to the safety of the massive cliffs. It had been a massacre that none had fully recovered from, full of sad stories like that of the medic who saved many lives, carrying them away from the battlefront on his donkey and was later brought back on that same donkey, dead.

But that was the nature of war. Harry knew now, after only one battle that he would be the one who would have to end it. Otherwise they wouldn't stand a chance.

Now those that were left, well, we tried to survive

In that mad world of blood, death and fire.

And for ten weary weeks I kept myself alive,

But around me, the corpses piled higher.

Then a big Turkish shell knocked me arse over head,

And when I woke up in me hospital bed

And saw what it had done, well, I wished I was dead.

Never knew there was worse things than dying.

For I'll go no more Waltzing Matilda

All around the green bush far and free,

To hump tent and pegs, a man needs both legs,

No more Waltzing Matilda for me.

* * *

Harry woke up. The white starchy sheet rubbing against his cheek and the dreaded sterilized smell that he knew only too well in his nostrils. He was in a hospital and had no idea how he got there.

A healer bustled in, "I must say, I don't know how you do it Mr. Potter, but you seem to come and visit me so regularly that I should put a plaque above that bed, Merlin knows, I could make a fortune out of the tourists coming to see the bed where Harry Potter recuperated after destroying You-Know-Who." She turned around and Harry saw that it was Madame Pomfrey.

"He's really gone?" he croaked. She jumped a foot in the air.

"Mr. Potter don't do that!" she cried, shocked. "You just gave my the fright of my life, Healer Starkey said that you wouldn't wake for another week at least!"

"Is he really gone?"

"You don't remember?" she questioned fussing with his covers. "It's not surprising, you _did_ take such a knock. I suppose I had better add memory loss to your chart." She shook her head and continued, "Yes he is, I don't know what you hit him with, that's on a need to know basis, but he got you with a couple of nasty ones, Cruicatus and such. But you got him in the end. No idea how, but you got him."

"How's Ginny?"

"Ginny? The poor dear would be doing fine if she wasn't here every waking moment and then some watching over you, says she wants to be there when you wake up. She's just over there. I slipped her some Dreamless Sleep. She's got to think about her health, she's just a slip of a thing."

"Ron?" Harry interrupted eagerly, "Hermione? The Weasleys? Moony? How are they?"

"All fine," the nurse answered. "Remus got into a spot of bother with a fellow with a silver hand, but he was lucky. It seems that conjured silver has a different effect to mined silver, they are just starting research into it now. It's cured him! Killed the werewolf in him! No one deserves it more than Remus, the poor man. He was the youngest ever recorded and never complained. I know; I patched him up, often enough. And his friends too. I never told Dumbledore, if it was happening he knew about it and I know the effects of the Animagus potion, in here for two weeks, all three of them!" Muttering about foolish students who believed that they were immortal and potions that left adult wizards sick for a fortnight, unconscious for the first week, constant nausea and muscle spasms for the rest, she bustled off to check on the other patients.

* * *

So they gathered the crippled, the wounded, the maimed,

And they shipped us back home to Australia.

The armless, the legless, the blind and insane,

Those proud wounded heroes of Suvla.

And as our ship pulled into Circular Quay

I looked at the place where me legs used to be,

And thanked Christ there was nobody waiting for me,

To grieve and to mourn and to pity.

But the band played Waltzing Matilda

As they carried us down the gangway.

But nobody cheered, they just stood and stared,

Then they turned all their faces away.

* * *

The crowd stared at him; it was all they could do. No one was that powerful. No one, not even Merlin, could have shifted the land like that, swapping the high ground with the low and then fight in mortal combat with the most powerful dark wizard since Morgana Le Fey, who had had thousands of years more knowledge than her, and live to tell the tale.

* * *

And so now every April I sit on my porch

And I watch the parade pass before me.

And I see my old comrades, how proudly they march,

Reviving old dreams of past glory.

And the old men marched slowly, all bones stiff and sore,

They're tired old heroes from a forgotten war,

And the young people ask," What are they marching for?",

And I ask meself the same question.

But the band plays Waltzing Matilda,

And the old men still answer the call.

But as year follows year, more old men disappear,

Someday no one will march there at all.

* * *

Harry Potter and his wife Ginny passed away on the same day, within minutes of each other at the age of one hundered and sixty. It is believed that his magic kept them alive to that great age. He had retired from the wizarding world after they saw how frightened the people were of him, to live comfortably on his inheritance and the reward money for the death of Voldemort. They are succeeded by their four sons and three daughters, their twenty eight grandchildren, one hundred and twelve great grandchildren and sixteen great great grand children and a little boy with a curious lightning bolt shaped scar.

* * *

Waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda, 

Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me ?

And their ghosts may be heard as they march by the billabong,

Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me ?

Waltzing Matilda

* * *

Oh! there once was a swagman camped in the Billabong,  
Under the shade of a Coolabah tree;  
And he sang as he looked at his old billy boiling,  
"Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me." 

Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda, my darling,  
Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me?  
Waltzing Matilda and leading a water-bag --  
Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me?

Down came a jumbuck to drink at the water-hole,  
Up jumped the swagman and grabbed him in glee;  
And he sang as he put him away in his tucker-bag,  
"You'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me!"

Down came the Squatter a-riding his thorough-bred;  
Down came Policemen -- one, two, and three.  
"Whose is the jumbuck you've got in the tucker-bag?  
You'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me."

But the swagman, he up and he jumped in the water-hole,  
Drowning himself by the Coolabah tree;  
And his ghost may be heard as it sings in the Billabong,  
"Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me?"

* * *

Words and music to Waltzing Matilda can be found here: http/members. and music to The Band Played Waltzing Matilda can be found here: http/mysongbook.de/msb/songs/rclarke/banplayd.htm 


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